


Great Settlement

by RedLlamas



Category: Homework - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: 2017, F/M, Gen, Homework, I'm actually proud of this guys, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLlamas/pseuds/RedLlamas
Summary: This was homework. Stanley isn't my OC, but everyone else is.The meaning of Trevor is "great settlement".





	Great Settlement

After wiping down the counters, Stanley was sat at a stool. He wondered what counters from different places looked like. He only knew the counters of Raleigh. Maybe he should document all the counters he’s come across, in a painting or something. His family knew about him and never said anything at all about it, positive or negative. But he knew that everyone around him could turn against him in a second, and with the current Presidential administration in place, he knew it’d be a matter of _when_ and not _if_.

Sarah shook him from where he was propped up, nearly dozing off. “Hey, get home, I’ll take it from here.”

“Really?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Of course, you’ve nearly worked yourself to death this entire week. I don’t think I saw you eat at all.” She sighed, and stood by as Stanley undid his apron and placed it on his shoulders. “Go home, get some rest, it’s nearly one in the morning.”

“Well it’s, it’s, it’s Saturday, mom, can’t I stay up just o-o-one more hour?” he joked, but still made his way out the back door. Sarah laughed and ruffled his hair.

“Go to sleep, Stan.”

He was outside now. The door closed on his face.

He sighed and made his way over to his car, an old pickup truck. He drove all the way to his place, and walked in to an empty apartment. Well, not entirely empty. Sebastian greeted him by the door, and he leaned down to scratch behind his ears.

“Di-di-di-did you catch any mi-mice, today, Sebby?” Stanley toed out of his shoes and made his way in, Sebastian following close by his heels. Once he got into the kitchen, Stanley changed Sebby’s water and pet him once more. Sebastian mewed in thanks and drank. Stanley felt proud of himself, as if he just came back from a war, weary and fragile, but still came home to feed his children.

Sebastian, of course, owns himself and only lets Stanley take care of him for shelter and hugs.

Stanley went into his room and just plopped down on his bed, exhausted from today’s running.

 

When he woke up, it was a Sunday afternoon, and he unclenched his body when he remembered today is his free day. His day off. He should get in his truck, pick up Sarah, and recreate _Ferris Bueller’s Day Off_. But who would be Sloane? He knows that Sarah has a boyfriend named Samuel, and while it’d be fun to have an outing with Sarah, he figures that he wouldn’t want to be Cameron in the story. Cameron is a great character, he’s actually quite fond of him, but _he_ wants to be Ferris, not be the friend of the protagonist.

He played some records while he bathed, at least reliving the Danke Schoen scene in the bathroom. A small victory.

Deciding that today he’s going to go out, with or without Sarah’s boyfriend, he heads out, remembering to feed Sebastian, then officially steps out of his apartment.

When he pulls up to Sarah’s house, he honks before getting out and knocking on the door. He’s greeted by a ruffled Sarah, who pulls her night robe closer. “Stan? What are you doing here? I told you that Sundays are Standays and that means days for Stan only.””

“You want to hang out? There’s this, this, this movie that came out, like, a few days ago, and I was wondering if –”

“Ohh, I’m sorry,” she interrupted, a genuine look of sorry on her face. “I wish I could, buut…” She opened the door more to reveal Samuel nearing with a plate in his hand. When Sam saw him, he stuck out his hand so that Stanley could shake it. Stanley did, and turned back to Sarah, “Uh, I’ll, I’ll, I’ll t-t-t-talk to you la-la-la-later, then?”

“Of course,” Sarah nodded, “Well, see you.” She closed the door on him.

This seems to be happening a lot.

He drove around town, debating whether or not he should go to the movies by himself. Not going won out in the end, seeing as he didn’t want to be seen as a lonely person. He headed to his favorite bar, to Sylvia’s, where everyone knew his name. Hell, he might even invite Sylvia herself to the movies.

Inside Sylvia’s the lighting was minimal, and the speakers played jazz. He felt comfortable here. He sat at the bar. The bartender was a friend named Sapphire.

“What would you like, Lee?”

“Give me whi-whi-whiskey on the rocks, the, on the rocks.”

“Ooo, fancy. Are you sure you don’t want your regular brandy?” she asked, already grabbing a cup and a bottle to pour.

“Yes, Laughy Sapphy, I’m sssure. I wanted to mix, mix it up a little, live life to its fullest. I’ve only ever had, I’ve only ever had whiskey at a party once, and it, it was, it was intense. It frightened me. But now, I want to, to face my fear.”

Sapphire laughed and slid him his drink. “Well, I hope that you are able to do so.” She went to the other side of the bar to attend to another customer.

Stanley looked down at his glass, and held it to the light. The whiskey filtered the sunlight from the windows just so, so that it looked a bit like honey. Honey tastes good, so by association, so will the whiskey. He’s seen other people drown it in one shot, so he decides to do that, which was a mistake. He’s coughing, can’t seem to breathe properly, did it go through the old road?

Someone’s clapping his back, telling him to take it easy, woah there, are you alright, you need a drink of water?

Stanley looked up at a nicely mannered guy, and nodded, face red from hacking his lungs up. The guy nodded and waved Sapphire over for water.

Stanley hastily drank the essence of life in a glass, feeling better once he set the glass down. He deeply exhaled, finally being able to breathe properly. “Thanks,” he muttered to the guy, who only clapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, no worries,” he said, a smile on his face. “Was that your first time drinking whiskey?”

“Actually, it’s, my, it’s my, it’s my second time,” Stanley nervously chuckled. The man nodded and took a sip from his own bottle.

“My name’s Trevor,” he stuck out his hand, and Stanley timidly shook it.

“St-st-stanley.”

“Well, St-st-stanley,” Trevor said, “You up for another glass?”

Stanley thought about it.

He shrugged.

Might as well.

 

After a couple of glasses, Stanley was a giggling mess. Trevor was nice. Trevor was cool. Trevor was the prettiest boy he’d ever seen.

“You’re the prettiest boy I’d ever seen,” he decides to tell him. Trevor chuckles and shakes his shoulder.

“You’re drunk, you’d see my fat Aunt Frida and think she’s Venus incarnate,” his voice boomed over the music. Stanley liked his voice, it was deep and sounded like how the forest would if it were a human. And he’s got to say, the forest looks more inviting now than it ever did before. Trevor’s eyes were lit up by the lighting, making his deep brown eyes look like amber stones, laugh lines made visible by his hearty laughs. Stanley is a bit surprised by how taken he is by him. He’s never really had an interest in older men, or brunets, or ever thought that a slight beard would make someone look more, interesting.

Trevor’s laughs slowly subsided, and they sat there, looking into each other’s eyes, blue into brown.

Stanley’s pace quickened when Trevor leaned into his space, feeling his face heat up not just because of the drinks. Trevor stopped right in front of him, nose to nose, to whisper,

“You’d like some coffee?”

Stanley was confused, and nervously laughed. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” Trevor continued, “I make the best damn-tasting coffee this side of the Mississippi.” There was something in his smile, something in his eyes, that made Stanley say,

“Yes.”

 

Stanley woke up in an empty bed to the smell of coffee. He got up, grabbed a shirt from the floor, and headed in its general direction.

He found Trevor drinking from a mug, and could see that one was set aside for him. He drank it and sat down.

“Hey, um, Stanley,” Trevor began, setting his mug down.

Stanley felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

He knew exactly what he was going to say.

“I need to tell you something.”

 

Stanley could see him everywhere, in every cloud, in every flower, in every building; at the restaurant, at the cinema, at the bottom of every bottle.

Sarah had to drive him home after every day, he could barely see the road for how much he wiped at his eyes. He ate even less than before, a walking corpse, aptly likened to a ghoul by Samuel. Sebastian curled up next to him at night, which was a warm welcome but made him feel even worse. He had to get out of this depression, not let it get him down. How many guys could he find in this strict, conservative town?

He ended up going to Sylvia’s, because Sylvia’s is a second home to him, although he might reconsider, seeing as how he met _him_ here.

He was there. Stanley stepped through the door and he could see him over by the pool tables. Their eyes met, but Stanley looked away and headed for the bar, thankful that Laughy Sapphy was working that night. After nursing his one glass of regular brandy, he felt someone sit next to him. He blushed, mortified at the circumstances.

“Hey,” a low rumbling voice said. He’d yearned to hear it again, but not like this.

“Hey, look at me, Stanley.” At the sound of his name, he obeyed like a loyal dog. What he saw was a distraught man, with loneliness in his eyes. Trevor neared his hand to Stanley’s, not touching, but right there.

“I’m sorry, for that night. Well, not for that night, but for the morning. I, uh, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I let you go, in a terrible way. I’m sorry, for, for hurting you, like that.”

Stanley didn’t know what to say. He looked up from their hands to Trevor’s face. “Th-thank you.” Trevor nodded, and went to get up, but was stopped by Stanley grabbing on to his arm. “W-w-wait.”

A questioning glance. Where did Stanley find this bravery? It doesn’t matter, because right now, he is brave, and he’s going to face the music that he’d ignored for the past twenty-three years.

He gulped.

“T-t-trevor,” he said, “I, I, um, I never, I never really, I mean, I –” He took a breath, and began, “I can’t remember what that coffee tasted like.”

Trevor smiled and laughed.

Stanley blushed and giggled.

The world’s counters can wait one more night.


End file.
